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by 
Katherine Elsepth Oliver 



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COPYRIGHT 1922 
By KATHERINE ELSPETH OLIVER 



PUBLISHED DECEMBER, 1922 

THE PRINTERY 
FULLERTON, CALIFORNIA 



JAN -2 '23 



4 



©C1A694464 



AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
TO MY SISTERS 



ORDER OF POEMS 

NATURE VERSE Pa^e 

Living • 11 

Southland Spring 12 

Homesick 13 

The Evangel 14-15 

The Norther 16-17 

The Plaza of a Little Town .... 18-19 

To a "Horny" Toad 20-21 

The Return 22 

The Boulevards . . . 23-24-25-26-27-28 

MISCELLANEOUS 

You 29 

Two Days 30 

Their Springs 31-32 

In the Park 22 

The Conqueror 33-34-35 

The Men Come Back From Hell . , . 36-37 
We Have Kept Faith 38-39 



LIVING 

Here's what I love! 

The clean sky above 
And the clean wide air, 
The mounting plain, 
The sweeping rain — 
The wind in my hair! 

To ride and ride. 

Where the land spreads wide 
To the darkening hills; 
In a splendid race 
To the open place 
And the life that fills. 

To ride and rest 

On the hill's high crest 
Under open sky; 
And to sleep without fear 
Where the stars are near. 
And God close by. 



11 



SOUTHLAND SPRING 

Sun and a bit o' rain — 

And a wooing breeze from out 

The yellow west. 

Mornings of golden mist 

And a meadow-lark singing, a-wing, 

Above his nest. 

Sun and a bit o* rain — 

One starry night, and warm, 

The earth thrills — pregnant — labors 

An hour and Spring 

Is born. 



12 



HOMESICK 

I know out there the day is breaking on the hills, 
And all the wide and waiting distance thrills 
One hushed moment at the coming of the dawn. 

I know the wine of morning that you quaff — 
Prick of wind, the sheen of sun on rock. 
The laugh of radiant day begun. 

I know how there the warm and flushing noons 
Soothe the great land to languor till she swoons 
To deep and sudden slumber in the sun. 

I know how the shy stars will light your way 
To that high crest you seek at close of day; 
I know how calm your slumber as you lie 
Under the vast white silence of the sky. 

I know — and here, where the great city wakes 
From fretted sleep, and hideous clamor takes. 
Where harsh walls herd the crowds that harried go, 
I'm longing for the wide land that I know — 
The land that holds just you and God. 



13 



THE EVANGEL 

I hear him singing now 

On his bright bough, 

Always the highest — ever the nighest 

To the wide sky. 

Herald of joyl 

No mocking minstrel he, 

To the high founts his spirit mounts 

And takes its glee. 

Hear, from his rapturous 

Throat, a thousand crystal notes 

To word his ecstacy. 

See how his fancy dreams, 

A thousand varied themes 

To voice his rhapsody. 

And lo! As though 
Too frail the instrument 
His praises to indite 
His passion flings him 
Skyward, like some 
Ecstatic neophyte. 



14 



The Evangel 



Hark I how he croons, 
Through dreaming noons. 
His soul's content — 
He wakes the night 
With his delight — 
His zest unspent. 

I hear him singing 

Now on his high bough — 

Evangel Bird I 

I hear him singing now 

His rapturous Word: 

** *Tis folly to be sad — 
*Tis wisdom to be glad — 
Be glad I Be glad I 
'Tis wisdom to 
Be glad!" 



15 



THE NORTHER 

The southwest norther is not a blizzard but a sand- 
storm. Just before and after, the air is inordinately 
clear and the sky brilliant with leaf and rock and sand 
a-gleam. These storms are colloquially called "electric" 
storms for during them the atmosphere seems charged — 
the hair of men and beasts crackles when brushed and — ^bor- 
rowing again the colloquial — the inhabitants complain of 
feeling "jumpy." 

Hark! the norther's on hand — 

She's leaped on the land from out of the pass; 

From the desert, stark, where the coyotes bark, 

She sprang from the sand — with a whistle she sprang — 

And a grewsome dance she began. 

In her skirts she picked up the pebbles, and clicked 
In her fingers the bones of beast and man 
That bleach on the sand; and she whirled and whirled 
And laughed and twirled, till the coyote skulked 

Red-eyed to his hole, and she cried: "Ah, my Soul 

Farewell!" And she flew, with her skirts full of sand. 

The green land she hates — 

Through the canyon gates, with a shriek, she leaps; 
And the land she shakes, and the trees she breaks, 
A.nd the man she smites, and the beast she bites — 
And the night, it stares, wide-awake, in fright. 



16 



The Norther 

Where the scared flowers hide, soft, softly she'll glide; 
"Sweets, a kiss," she mocks low — then a dry, dry breath 

She w^ill blow. She's mad for a drink 

She stoops at the brink of each spring she goes by — 
She sucks the fields dry. 

I met her last night — 

She'd come through the Pass, to smite the green grass; 
And her teeth with grit were sharp — and she bit; 
1 saw her red eye, and she whispered, "Good-bye," 
And was gone, riding high, through the sky. 



17 



THE PLAZA OF A LITTLE TOWN 

A circle of green — 

A tinkling fountain dropping music 

From basin to basin — 

Little grass plots 

Circled with pansies, standing wide-eyed — 

Primly, hand in hand. Nasturtiums in 

Riot; slim, tall ranks of swaying 

Cosmos — crimson-robed dahlias — 

The ground between clean of weeds, showing 

The gardener's pains; and a regal show 

Of roses; seats under flowering 

Bushes — petal showered. 

The blackbirds swagger 

Along the walks — smart and sleek 

After their morning bath. The bees thrive 

Here, and the old men. 

The old men and the babies — 

This is their pleasant harbor while 

About them moves the tide of action swift 

And quickening: Young men and maidens 

To their work; the shop-keeper to 

His store — fruit pickers on their wheels; 

An early load of men and women for 

The packing houses, riding by 

On groaning trucks. 



18 



The Plaza of a Little Town 

A little place to pause — to lift 
The eye to color and the 
Nostrils to fragrance: 
A circle of green — 

A pleasant place to take 

The hand of a friend. Laughter is here — 

And the whistle of a merry boy. And the flag 

Grows here — the flag rising to splendid 

Bloom above the Plaza trees. 

The flag, in the heart 

Of the town! 



19 



TO A "HORNY'^ TOAD 

Little horny toad 

Blinking in the sun — your day 

Begun with cheer (a fine, fat bug — 

May-hap, a gnat), and comfort of 

Warm sand 'gainst wee soft 

Belly pressed — how 

Strangely you 

Are dressed! 

How strangely you 

Are dressed — in coat of mail 

From crown to tail — and proudly 

Crested head! Odd little 

Horny toad — why thus 

Accoutred? 

Why thus accoutred. 
Wee little knight? What dread 
Lives in this wide place of friendly 
Folk — what terror rides in the high 
Cloud aisles — what terror 
Strides 'cross the desert waste 
Peopled with a gentle 
Of pleasant folk? 



20 



To a "Horny" Toad 

Only the gray hawk 

Sailing high — only the sad coyote — 

Stark and fearful and looking back, 

Back — ever; only the Jack — 

The lean, gray Jack — 

Noiseless and light — only the 

Lark with her instant song — 

A moment begun, a moment 

Done; the Swift w^ith 

His w^eird curiosity — 

Only a shadow — 

Only a tree. 

And you, in your 

Brave little armor arrayed — 

I feel your tiny heart beating — afraid — 

'Gainst my palm — and your little hand like 

A baby's, grip my fingers — No — 

I won't let you slip! 

And all your puny wrath can do is 

To open your toothless mouth and "Who-o-o" 

A gusty breath— There, see! I've put 

You back in your "comfy" sand — 

Little scared knight of a 

Dragonless land. 



21 



THE RETURN 

Spring! Time of the New! 

Day of the fragrant things that bud and bloom, 

Day of the tender things that bloom and die; 

Time of the hope of little nestling things, 

The hope and fear for little nestling things beneath 

warm breasts. 
Time of the songs that thread the waking night — 
That thread the night with heartache and delight; 
Hour of strong wings that mount up to the sun; 
Of fragile wings that fail beneath the sun — 
Spring! Time of the New! 

Spring! Time of the New, the old, old New! 

Whether the blossoms of this hour's birth. 
Or those young wings that glance above the grass. 
Or the sweet fulsome breath of sunnied earth, or rap- 
turous lark! 
All, all — the Presence and the Promise — all are those 
Sw^eet former things w^e knew whose latter pain 
The kind year eased awhile till thou didst wake the 
hurt. 

Spring! Time of the New! 



22 



THE BOULEVARDS 

I love the boulevards 

The ink-purple boulevards sounding 
All day with sibilant wheels. 

I have no rich coach 
Accoutred to taste and purring 
Proudly. I ride with the 
Plain folks, in the stages. 
1 like it. 

COLOR 

I like the color 

And stir at the stage stations — 

I like to watch the crowds, 

Waiting sitting and 

Waiting: 

Shoppers for the city. 

High school girls and boys. 

Workmen with their kits — a clerk — 

An office girl — a student with nose in book; 

Two or three squat sefioras; and travelling 

Men and tourists; a little family 

With rollicking kiddies, and 

Baskets of lunch, bound 

For the beach. 



23 



The Boulevards 
HEROES 

I love to see the stages 
Swagger in, like doughty champions 
Puffing and blowing — like thoroughbreds 
After the race — sides heaving. 

There is the thrill and prick 
Of former days . . . the curling whip 
Above the foaming four-in-hand — flourish of horn 
The salvos as the coach comes in. . . . 

The drivers — heroes of wheel and clutch — 
Young swash-bucklers in puttees! They swing 
With swagger to the wheel the prettiest girl 

Beside. Soft this to push a "Hack" 

Along the boulevards at "thirty-five," 
Who late were dodging shell-holes 
In a motor lorrie, with 
"Dumdums" going over. 

THE START 

We sit tight packed — 
The doors are slammed — the crash 
Of clutch, the stutter and the lunge 
And we are off, adventuring upon 
The humming highway! 

THE ROAD 

The wind drives wet 

Through flapping curtains — 

We swath our coats about us — turn collars up 

And profiles to our mates. Eyes on the running road — 

We are as close as man and man, yet are alone — 

The motor taking up his song — each one alone. 

Alone, and riding free and furious 

Into the blur. 

24 



The Boulevards 



FOG 

Wiped out is the day 

Of sound and color — only the 

Burnished band of the road, running ever 

To meet us — running ever under the wheels, like 

A polished belt — like a gray satin ribbon 

Winding and winding on a spool. 

Gray ghosts are at hand, shrouded 

And motionless, gray ghost shapes. We fly 

Past them like a scared thing, and the gray is torn 

Now and again by thundering shapes — bearing upon 

Us with swirl and shriek — shapes, fleeing, 

Like ourselves, from the roadside ghosts. 

Then again — silence and the throb of 

The motor, like a faithful heart 

The sibilant wheels and the 

Flap of the curtains 

In the wind. 

Our cheeks are cold 

And wet, but our hearts are warm 

And glad — glad for the loneliness — for 

The sunless distance, the silence 

And the race. 



25 



The Boulevards 



THE SUN 

Then the fog is torn, 

Torn by the slender spires 

Of the wayside eucalypti — caught like 

A silken petticoat, on a snag — and here 

Is a rift of blue — yonder, a green field showing. 

And, like a lovely woman masquerading, the Day 

Drops her nun's garb and runs 

Laughing, to meet us. 

And now we sing along 

Roads purple — avocado purple — 

Along roads blue — the deep blue of indigo; 

We flash past rows of orange trees — 

The singing tires scatter the scarlet 

Pepper berries. The air flashed 

Back by the speeding w^heels is 

A bouquet of sweets; 

A thousand sweets! Honey of orange 

Blossoms, nectar of wild bloom. 

Of rose hedges a-gleam with 

Mist beads; fragrance of 

Emerald alfalfa and 

The new earth behind 

The morning plow. 



26 



The Boulevards 



THE DAY 

The day is long 

With thoughts — dual thoughts; 
The speed — the wrind — our aerated bodies- 
Something has accomplished separation. 
We are removed — transplanted to 
The realm of spirit — the 
Fourth Dimension — 
Maybe 

The day is long 

With thoughts: Thoughts of 

That we see with our eyes and 

That our hearts see. 

Thoughts about that home 

Yonder on that green slope, and another 

We know; thoughts about that 

Man plowing his field and 

Another familiar 

And dear, pottering about 

His garden. Thoughts of the little 

Girl lifting smiling face to us 

From the roadside and 

Another who w^ill 

Smile no more 

For us — here. 



27 



The Boulevards 



THE NIGHT 

So we ride the boulevards — 

The purple boulevards — from dripping 

Morning to burnished sunset. And we crash 

Through the dark like a racing chariot — 

Our headlight cuts the night like 

A sword through a velvet curtain — 

Like a brandished sword 

Through a curtain of 

Scented velvet. 

We reel dow^n the slope 
And roar up the hill toward 
A flare in the sky, and behold! 
The City, like a golden 
Idol — jew^el-girt and 
Dripping light. 



28 



YOU 

Saw a bit of sky, bright blue, 

Through the clouds yesterday — thought of You. 
Just a glint of clean, clear sky, 
Shining up there, sweet and high, 
Pure and true, like the eyes 
Of You. 

Saw a little, tender dove 

Yesterday, in the sky — thought of You, dear Love. 
With its tiny might, alone. 
Beating 'gainst the storm — wind-blown. 
Brave, unspent, unspoiled — 
Little wilful, val'rous dove. 
Like you. Love. 

Saw a little saucy new 
Red rose, yesterday — thought of You. 
Tip-toe, tempting: "Pluck me. Sir, if you dare!" 
So 1 reached and plucked her, though I swear 
Well she pricked. But I have her here 
On my breast today — tender, fragrant, rare — 
Like you. Dear. 



29 



TWO DAYS 

The day broke bellowing 
On the land, and from the dawn 
To candle-light, each hour 
Piled up disaster. 

* * * At night the red aun 
Skulked a-down the sky as one 
Who looks not back upon 

His work. * * * 

* * The ghastly twilight 

Fell on homes w^here women hugged their babes 
And moaned, and staring men who fought 
And failed, lifted on high their 
Empty hands. * * * 

* * * From out the ruin's 
Midst: "There is no God I" 
They cry. 

A morning broke 

In fairest calm, and beauty 

Walked abroad — the land all glad 

With bounty and the songs 

Of men. * * * 

* * * At eve the great sun 
Moved unto his rest as one who leaves 
Behind benign remembrances 

And generovis deeds. » * • 

* * * The twilight fell 

On peaceful homes v/here rested men 
From toil; where children played 
And women softly sang. * * * 

* ^' * So kind a day!" 
The crooning mother sighs — 
"God must be nigh!" 



30 



THEIR SPRINGS 

By [Catherine Elspeth Oliver 

Every Spring 

We are quickened — we who 

Have the smallest gift of song. 

It isn't just the jibe of the jokesmiths 

Quickened, like the teeming earth — 
Like the eager seed, hastening 
To put forth after 
Its kind. * * ♦ 

* * * Spring is a great 
Locksmith. He has the key that fits 
The rusty lock of the imagination: 
Thoughts flow like new-loosed 
Brooks; fancy takes w^ing 

Like the lark — it gushes 
Like new sap. 

For each of us 

Has known his Spring! 

Faber, the poet — Emery — 

The essayist with a "rep** and everything 

Coming his w^ay; West, the class "vale** 

Making his pile at stocks, who even 

Yet turns out a surreptitious line 

On his secretary's typew^riter 

With that Personage gone; 

Brown, the T. B. 

In his garret, tapping 

Out an accompaniment to his 

Cough on his second-hand Corona — 

The only sign of the season, the crimson 

Token that spells the M. D.'s 

Prophesy: * * * 

* * * "by Spring." 



31 



Their Springs 



All of us have 

Known Spring — and the gush 

Of the heart meeting the surge of 

Growing things; the ravishment of Spring 

Incense; the something — like tears — when the 

Eyes meet the vision of a field, 

Full-panoplied with 

Spring bloom. * * *' 

* * * We have all known 

Spring; its majesty and madness — 

Its worship and its loves. 

And that ineffable urge of the 

Quickened spirit toward 

Its Heaven. 



IN THE PARK 

Above, the great trees stand in mighty calm 
And o'er the grass the sunshine spreads its balm; 
Beneath droop burdened souls that know no rest, 
And by despairing feet the grass is pressed. 

But though in vain their calm is spread for these — 
Still watch they on. How patient are the trees! 
And though o'er it unheeding feet may pass — 
Still smiles it on. How patient is the grass! 
« 4^ 4^ « « ^ 

Methinks God's patience waiteth in the trees; 
Methinks God's mercy bides in sunny leas. 



32 



THE CONQUEROR 

Ho, thou! 

Who Cometh there, across the snow? 

Stay — halt, and give the word! Knowest not 

That none may pass this way — with millions spilling blood- 

Who hath no sign, nor token of command? Who art thou- 

What thy name — who servest? Speak! 

Look you, comrade — and he is gone! 

He moves in majesty across the bloodied snow. 

Unstayed by sword — nay — what is this? The blade 

Falls broken to the ground — and oh, his eyes! 

Sawest thou, that instant, as they turned 

With look that pierced the heart — 

August and terrible! 

And in his breast he bears 

A sleeping child, and that which slipped 

Past, as we stood, amazed, and clingeth to 

The hem of him — it is a woman! 

Look ye — what sight is this? The dying raise 

Them as he goes and lift their wounds 

To him and cry — Hark! What cry they? 

"Hail, Prince of Peace — 

Hail Thou and hear!" 



33 



The Conqueror 

"Thou! Prince of Peace — 

Come to thy festival of love and cheer — 

What welcome Thine? Razed temples — smoldering hearths 

And harried droves of homeless and behind — 

The cannon's night, and fields of staring dead. 

Come to thy festival, oh Prince, across 

The plains of blood — and art forgot — rejected? Nay! 

By these wounds that cry to Thee I By dead men's 

Eyes that stare at thee — Nay! 

By these barren wombs that wail to Thee — 

And that despair that looks 

From old men's eyesl" 

Ha — look I With tenderness he lays 

The child within his mother's arms and turns 

To speak: "Aye, 'Prince of Peace' am I, though scarce 

My mother's arms received me ere the threat 

Of jealous 1 hrone had snatched me from 

My gentle bed to hurried flight. My kinsman — John — 

And messenger, was slain, by boast 

Of bestial Prince — 'Thou art not Caesar's 

Friend,' the taunt, that Pilate's manhood slew^ 

And sent me to the cross. 

"Aye, 'Prince of Peace' — 

I sealed my lips and, wordless, bore 

The insults of the Roman guard. The thorny crown 

I wore — disdained to yield the homage of a moan. 

One of the royal band it w^as w^ho lent 

The final thrust of earthly insolence with sword 

Within my tortured side. And in my name 

Millions have died — by wounds — by cross — and fire — 

At hand of throned tyrants. 

34 



The Conqueror 

Have forgot? Ah no! Yet once again — 

Today — I come: The Prince of Peace 1" 

See — he hath flung aside his humble robes — 

He stands against the blood red arch of rising day — 

A warrior, accoutered for the fight — more terrible 

Than battery of guns, his eyes more piercing 

Than the eyes of flying men — his arm invincible! 

"On — Carry on!" 

Today the Prince of Peace commands — 

On the proud, self-reared chiefs of men, 

He maketh war for ever more 

On — carry on! 

The sainted dead a cloud of w^itnesses — 

The loosed souls of thy brothers — slain — encompass ye! 

The pain of all who wander, weep and die, today, 

At cursed hand of Kings, cry unto thee 

The wrongs of all the weary years call to ye — 

I — the long suffering one — the Prince of Peace, 

In name of God and Peace, command ye — 

Carry on! 



35 



THE MEN COME BACK FROM HELL 

These are the men 

Come back from hell. Once they were 
Like ourselves — everyday folk at their 
Tasks: one was a clerk, another an engineer; 
One made shoes for a living. They were all 
Busy men, in a land of peace. Then the 
Call came: a job overseas ridding 
The world of bandits — 
And they went. 

They went where the 

Good world — the kind, familiar world. 

Yielding harvests and happiness — security 

And pleasant homes, had turned daft, and gaped 

With fearful wounds; where the smitten ground leaped 

Skyward, and the earth — blood sickened — belched 

The dead from out their hasty graves. 

Where quiet meadows shrieked with 

Winged death — ^where forests 

Smoked and the sowed field 

Brought forth corpses. 



36 



The Men Come Bach From Hell 

Where the dwellers 

Of the land were driven forth 

Like cattle by murderous and lustful hands — 

The old — bew^ildered, fainting — children smitten — 

Women mad, and cursing the gift of birth. The world 

The safe, glad world writhing in horror — 
Rolled in blood: These are the men 
Come back from hell. 

These are the men 

Come back from Hell their banners 

With them; they whose deeds the world will 

Speak unto all ages: war scarred — battle bitten — 

Wound smitten — Greet them with salvos and tears. 

Tears — thanksgiving and awe — they are the 

Miracle of God and the invincible 

Arm: The men come back 

From Hell! 



37 



WE HAVE KEPT FAITH 

We have kept faith — 

Oh, ye who lie in Flanders field today — 

We have kept faith with thee. That sacred trust 

Pledged by the w^arm, young blood of you w^ho loved 

Life, as do we the sweet, w^ide air, sun and the crimson 

Poppies — all things fair — we have kept pledge 
With you who fell *mong Flanders flowers. 

We have kept faith with you — 

Dost hear, today, dear dead — dear dead? 

Above thy head the sky is fair again, and clean. 

From the sweet noon the peace thou broughtest so soon 

Hath sv/ept the cannon's night away — the larks have sought 

Again their nests in the low grass — 'long the old track 

The herds graze slowly back — and see! On rebuilt 

Hearths the fires kindled are, and there is 

Home once more, dear dead — sweet dead — 

Because you lie where Flanders' poppies blow. 

We have kept faith with you — ye whom 

We shall not greet tomorrow when the ships 

Come home. The proud, unsullied flags — your flags — 

Will know the untrammeled air, and fair with banners 

Will be the streets your eager feet have pressed 

The while ago — and we shall miss you there. Ah! Yes — 

When we make glad because of the great gift 

You bought with price of your low bed 

'Mong Flanders poppies spread 

38 



We Have Kept Faith. 

Gift of free life, free air — bread 

Earned by free men and for their souls 

Lease from the curse of kings, we have kept faith — 

That boon, your unselfed passion sought for men and bought 

At price so dear — we have held fast and sealed to us 

By iron terms of conquerors. For fruitful fields 

Laid waste, and peaceful homes that held 

The lives of peaceful men — for churches 

Razed, and all the ways of industry 

And honest life ravished by bandits price 

In full, or face again the flaring guns! 

Vengeance for those — the slain 

By murderers' hands — those lain along 

The bone-strewn track of desert — for the 

Unnamed crimes against the white, protesting souls 

Of maidens deaths of the old, and fiendish crimes 

'Gainst babes forgot no debt your outraged eyes 

Beheld, that steeled your soul and arm made life 

A guilty thing while such outrages lived, 
And death, a friend, so thou couldst bring 
To end such villainies. 

Fear not! The victors' terms have read 
To the whipped hordes the terror writ by thundering 
Guns of the avenging nations. No plea for lenience. 
No weak forgetting shall pardon their offense. 

Toward God and man treachery and death 

Have kissed each other the world is safe, oh, brothers 

Of the white soul and mighty arm! Thou canst rest 

Now — a little while where poppies blov/. 

Till God shall wake thee in thy slumbers 

Thou shalt know we have kept faith with thee. 



39 



